His explanation was hesitant, as if he were afraid to provoke her into a swift refusal. “There are some fellows I know, they’ve been talking about starting a new mystery guild at the university. Not one of those stuffy old men’s clubs like Papa always complains about and not…well, I know that student guilds have a reputation for being drinking clubs and…and worse. They want to begin something that’s actually focused on celebrating mysteries. Maybe researching and reviving some of the older ones. Maybe trying to create new ones.”
Her interest was caught. She nodded, trying not to show too much excitement in case it were only teasing as he used to do. But Nikule seemed in earnest.
“One of the fellows—he thinks it’s important to have a mixed guild: men and women both. He thinks it—well, I forget how he described it. All abracadabra stuff. But they want to invite some of the girl scholars. The serious ones. And they asked me to invite you. Truth to tell, I think I only got included so they’d have the chance to ask you. You have a bit of a reputation, you know.”
That was a surprise. It had never occurred to her that any of the regular scholars had even noticed her as an individual, rather than as part of the annoying gaggle in the top rows of the lecture theater. But she could see many problems. “I don’t know. It doesn’t sound entirely…proper. I’m trying to imagine any of my friends being allowed to join something like that.”
“It’s all very respectable,” he insisted. “Your friend Mesnera Chazillen has already joined. And Mesnera Nantoz as well.”
The latter Margerit knew only by reputation, but that reputation was impeccable.
“Don’t imagine these are wild student parties, wandering through the catacombs by candlelight. At the moment we’re meeting at Dom Amituz—the count’s son is a member—although I think they’re looking for someplace more formal for the mysteries themselves. What can I tell them?”
Margerit could hear the story he wasn’t telling. He’d come to the notice of well-born men. Men whose families had influence. And they wanted something they thought he could provide: her. And if he failed, likely that would be the end of their notice. But a guild interested in treating the mysteries as more than simple ritual—as something to be explored and tested? And who wanted her specifically? She wondered if Antuniet had suggested her. But then why hadn’t the invitation come from her?
“I would need to ask Aunt Bertrut’s permission—to see if she thinks it’s proper.”
He seemed relieved and even teased, “But not Papa?”
She shook her head. “He doesn’t understand how things work here. He’d either be against it for the wrong reasons or approve for different wrong reasons. Aunt Bertrut doesn’t know all the rules but she knows whom to ask. She’s never set me on the wrong path yet.”
Nikule nodded though he looked as if he’d hoped for a more certain answer. And then he ventured, “Margerit…,” in an even more hesitant tone than before.
She waited.
“Margerit…I’m sorry. That matter. Back in Chalanz. I didn’t—”
“It’s forgotten,” she said firmly. And somewhat to her own surprise, she meant it. He’d been a pawn in Uncle Fulpi’s plans as much as she had. And it had been those plans that set her free. Nikule was no more a villain than he was the icon of her childish fancies. And if the guild’s invitation were a peace offering, they could both consider the matter closed.
When Bertrut was petitioned, she took several anxious days to consult with a few well-chosen acquaintances. And in the end, the answer was yes. The judgment had been made that this new guild was a harmless enough diversion. The principals were from some of the oldest families and the ordinary members at least had no bad reputation. And if it brought the young lady scholars together with men who would never be admitted to their parents’ drawing rooms, as long as the proprieties were observed it was no worse than attending lectures in the first place.
With that answer in hand, Margerit turned to what she thought might be the harder problem: presenting the matter to Barbara.
Chapter Forty
Barbara
Barbara held the lamp closer to the mirror and craned her head to one side. The scar might fade in time. A fashionable style with her hair frizzed over the temples would hide it but that was hardly practical. She sighed and set the lamp down to braid and tie her hair into a loose club like the styles of the last generation. Pinning it up still pulled painfully at the new skin. Had she become vain?
On impulse, she opened her wardrobe and drew out a gown of pale blue silk to hold against her before the glass. The baron had given it to her on her last birthday. Given—well, presented it to her to wear, in any event. Only a year ago. She had worn it that once. Or was it twice? Would it still fit? There had been no occasion to wear women’s clothing since the baron’s death. Her world had been wider then. Now there were so many things—like the gown—shut away to wait until there was a place for them again.
At the moment nothing much seemed to fit. December had passed in contrasts as sharp as moving from a fireside out into the east wind. The house was more full than it had been at any time she could remember. It wasn’t a small house—none of the north bank properties could be considered small. But the baron had purchased it with no vision of a sprawling clan of cousins and grandchildren. Between Margerit and the Pertineks and the Fulpis, all the family rooms were inhabited for once. Even the bare minimum of Fulpi servants had strained Mefro Charsintek’s ingenuity to find room, though in the end the housekeeper found beds for everyone. And yet Barbara found herself alone in the bustle nearly as often as in the weeks before, when her wound and her promise had bound her to the house.
Her recovery still seemed maddeningly slow. Perret knew how to bring you back from injury—when to push and when to call a halt. But for all that, she still found herself dancing around the fear of pain. At the moment it gave her little concern for Margerit’s safety. Playing the hostess, she went nowhere questionable and was surrounded at all times by so much of her family that an armin felt superfluous.
Then in a rush of bells and crowds and lights the season was past and the entire city of Rotenek seemed to sigh and sit back for a moment’s rest to gather strength for the next round. It felt like the slow promenade before the start of the waltz. Looking forward, January would pass in a long frozen slog. February would pick up the pace. The university’s short Lenten term would begin even as the social world paused in contemplation. Even farther ahead, with Holy Week past, there would be the double burden of the long Easter term and the rush to finish the season before the unpredictable spring floods. But for now Barbara watched the departing carriages of the Fulpis and hoped life would return to normal.
* * *
Though it would be weeks before lectures started again, Margerit suggested they venture out to the university quarter to see the postings and catch the gossip on what would be offered. Many of the dozzures preferred the traditional approach of lecturing on whatever topic pleased them that term, certain that their particular students would follow. Even so, someone would know what was planned and would be passing it on in coffee shops and huddled discussions as friends passed in the street. It wouldn’t do for Margerit to be seen loitering in a student café but enough could be gleaned by listening. Some of the lecture subjects would be posted as handbills by those professors who didn’t trust to reputation alone to draw an audience.
Even in those familiar streets, Barbara found herself on edge and constantly twitching at movements caught from the corner of her eye. This was their first excursion alone since the attack. She’d seen no sign of her shadows since she’d returned to going out—not even the loiterer at the bridge—and that was suspicious enough on its own. But it was different when she had a charge to keep. She couldn’t trust to whatever strange luck had protected her so far. Given her own mood, she failed to notice that Margerit was also distracted until she announced abruptly, “I’ve been invited to join a guild.”
Barbara nodded v
aguely. Good. That was a sign of true acceptance. Invitations to balls were one thing, but it could take generations in Rotenek to be invited into the old private guilds. The Waldimens most likely, she thought. They were— She noticed that Margerit was staring at her expectantly. “I’m sorry, was there more?”
“It’s a student guild.”
Barbara didn’t try to keep the wary look from her face.
“A mixed one—it’s perfectly respectable. Aunt Bertrut asked around.” The whole story of Nikule’s offer tumbled forth.
Barbara considered the matter carefully as she listened. Well, why not? It was a safer place to explore her questions about the mysteries than the cathedral library. Students were expected to debate and flirt with all the more questionable philosophies.
Margerit’s explanation trailed off with, “…but I wasn’t sure you would approve.”
With that word, the world shifted again between them and Barbara replied stiffly, “It isn’t my business to approve or disapprove if Maisetra Sov—Maisetra Pertinek has no objections. I’ll need to know where you’ll be meeting, of course, and who will be present, if you know.” It was, after all, just another social function. And she would be there to assess the gameboard and the players and to see that her token made it across the squares unscathed.
* * *
But when it came to the first gathering of the newly formed Guild of Saint Atelpirt, it seemed one of the principals had other ideas. Mesner Choriaz looked over the motley cluster of chaperones and armins and exclaimed, “No, I’m sorry, this is impossible. Is this a guild or a carnival? Rather than naming ourselves after the great theologian we should have called ourselves harlequins and had done with it.” He waved dismissively at the group of attendants. “They’ll have to wait elsewhere when we get to serious work.”
Barbara looked around at the invitees. In addition to Choriaz and their host, Filip Amituz, she recognized three scions of the nobility. Of the noblemen present, Choriaz most looked the scholar, his severe plain coat and spectacles contrasting with Iohennis Lutoz’s boyish looks and garish waistcoat. She wasn’t much familiar with the Salun brothers except by name. On the distaff side, in addition to Antuniet there were two slightly older girls she knew mostly by reputation: Ainis Nantoz and Iosifin Rezik. Back when she had first started attending the baron as his duelist, they’d been moving from their dancing seasons into the serious pursuit of suitors. But whether from personal inclination or a lack of offers they’d returned to a preference for books over balls.
The numbers on the male side of the guild were filled out with studious looking men that she didn’t know. Ordinary scholars had never intersected her duties under the baron. She noted their names carefully for further interest. And Nikule, of course. He seemed oddly out of line with the ordinary run of invitees. She didn’t recall him being described as more than dutiful in his studies. The remaining women were taken from the ranks of the poor-scholars. Barbara recognized one of them. Akezze Mainus was known for her work on formal logic. If she had been well-born she might also have been known as a beauty, with her pale skin and masses of red-gold hair, but even years spent over books hadn’t erased the drift of freckles that an outdoor childhood had left across her nose. The other poor-scholars, she presumed, had been chosen for similar talents. There were no other women of Margerit’s class. She wished that Amiz Waldimen had been invited, but it would be impossible for a girl not yet out.
The poor-scholars were accompanied by two older women to watch over them. It was a requirement of their studies that there be no blemish on their morals and clearly they were taking no chances on that end. Another companion covered the two older girls. She had more the look of a lady’s maid. Antuniet had her armin, of course, and two of the men had also seen fit to be so accompanied. All together it made for quite a crowd. It was easy to see why Mesner Choriaz objected.
It was Antuniet who put a stop to the rising grumbling. “You want three things, Iakup: a mixed guild, the participation of respectable women and no chaperones. You can have two of them.” And with that, the matter was settled, if not entirely to everyone’s satisfaction.
* * *
Through the crawling progress of those first few meetings of the guild, Barbara could see Margerit’s frustration. But what had she expected? To her, the purpose of the group might be obvious, but each member had come with different expectations. And while university debate might pay lip service to equality, in the end it came hard up against the wall of noble privilege. The ensuing struggle was an ideal chance to size up the players on the board.
She had thought at first that Amituz had been the seed for the guild’s formation. By courtesy of his father, the count, he was their host for these initial gatherings and his was certainly the most prominent name. But for all that he was known as an avid student of history, he seemed indifferent to the details of more spiritual topics. Iakup Choriaz had shown his hand from the first: impatient, hot-tempered and yet genuinely dedicated to unraveling the same sorts of puzzles that fascinated Margerit. Frizo and Mihail Salun were ciphers as yet. They stood back from the arguments over structure and purpose, though Mihail was clearly fixed as one of the principals from the start. It was Hennis Lutoz that Barbara finally pegged as the unlikely leader. His face hadn’t lost the softness of youth and he gave the impression of caring more for the cut of his coat and the arranging of his cravat than the content of his studies. He spoke little in the discussions, but when he did, she noted that the decision always went his way. He was the one who brought them back to firm principles: that the purpose of the guild was to understand and practice effective mysteries, not simply to perform the traditions of ages past by rote. He was the one who gave respect to the proven talents of Maistirs Albin and Perfrit, to Antuniet’s systematic experiments, to Mainus’s rigorous logic and—much to her delight—to Margerit’s reputation as a keen vidator. And how had he known that? Barbara wondered. Antuniet, no doubt. What else was being said of her behind closed doors?
The interplay of personalities was amusing to watch, but when it came to her duty Barbara narrowed her focus to two questions. Would there be a physical danger? Not likely for the meetings at Dom Amituz, and not likely in the presence of the whole company, but they hadn’t yet chosen a site for the rituals. The one time she ventured to interrupt the deliberations was when Lutoz suggested the abandoned chapel of Saint Chermen just outside the city walls. No, she objected. Lonely travel to a deserted location was not acceptable. The second question, of course, was the danger to Margerit’s reputation. Maisetra Pertinek might have approved the guild in concept, but it was still a perilous mix. Throw together young men and women, working closely with only a token nod to chaperonage, side by side with others who were not at all suitable as social partners. One never knew who might think to take advantage or who might simply be careless of the proprieties.
And yet, watching Margerit’s enthusiasm when they settled finally to work made all the effort worthwhile. Balls and concerts felt like a tedious chore, knowing that Margerit was indifferent to their attractions and attended mostly for show. But this work was what she had envisioned for Margerit that day back in Mintun when the cherry blossoms fell. She would take every care necessary to see that nothing interfered.
Chapter Forty-One
Margerit
The guild wasn’t quite what Margerit had envisioned, once they worked past the initial arguments over organization. Her debates with Barbara had been ones of exploration. The two of them had picked to pieces the writings of those who had gone before and mapped out what they could understand of her own observations. But now when the question came to composing a new mystery, there were many branching choices. Iakup wanted to resurrect an old instantaria of Saint Aukustin that he’d unearthed in a collection of charters—a meditative ritual to promote diligence in an undertaking. Giseltrut urged a brick by brick approach to identify the common elements across the familiar mysteries—both great and small—that seemed most essent
ial to success. Morpirt objected that they had no way to define success, and wasn’t that the eternal problem with a mechanistic approach?
Hennis, as usual, waited until the others had had their say and then pointed out that every serious writer on thaumaturgy agreed that the combined efforts of a practiced guild were essential. Clearly, their first task was to work together on some simple ceremony to learn each other’s strengths and skills. And having chosen Atelpirt for their namesake—as a patron of philosophers and scholars—it made sense to choose the memoriosa ritual he was best known for as their starting point. There was the added benefit that the success of that aid to memory would strengthen their later efforts.
Finding a venue for the guild’s mysteries remained the largest hurdle. Even Morpirt, whose doubts of the divine nature of the mysteries bordered on heresy, was not ready to claim that a sanctified space was unnecessary. But such spaces—consecrated and yet available for use—were hard to come by within the city walls. The old traditional guilds each had a long association with a sponsoring church. But that would mean closer oversight than any of the principals cared to submit themselves to.
The search dragged out into the start of the Lenten term. For a time, it looked as if the guild might founder before it began. Lectures and readings began to fill up the days. Efriza, one of the poor-scholars, stopped coming, noting scornfully that she had no time for children’s games and to ask her again if they ever settled to real work.
At last, a place was found: a travelers’ hostel built by the Iulin Brothers just inside the southeast gate which had fallen into disuse when the new port shifted traffic to the west. The hospitallers had sold it to a speculator who had not yet turned it to a new purpose and the chapel had been kept open for the use of the neighborhood. A search was made for the new owner to inquire about an arrangement and to everyone’s surprise—including her own—Margerit found that she held the deed.
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